FAMILY PORTRAIT

Pop songs, on a radio,

scratched at the darkness

Doors shut and opened

throughout the house

Your parents were snoring

but nothing was trustworthy

Chance had left you

to wall and ceiling angles

that converged, like feelings,

foreshortening corners

In a dream you ventured out

into the unfamiliar woods

prowled trees

adorned with scalps

and the dead snapped back,

stinging across the face.

Scurry, dampness,

and torch light

turned the warrior

back for breath.

No telling how

frightened or captive

the family would look

in the kitchen, in the morning